I know my vegetables. I know each of them. Spend hours here each week on your hands and knees, and you will know what it means to commune with your food.
Survivors [independence]
Each week, domestic violence survivors gather for a support group. To an outsider, the successes here can sometimes feel so miniscule, you might wonder why they matter. But they do.
Waiting Room [sanctuary]
The doctor’s waiting room might be an unlikely haven. For me, it’s a cool and dimly lit cocoon, safe from the crises of the world outside.
Soundtrack [sanctuary]
Beneath the Baby Grand, the sound enveloped me, its resonance like a spirit, circling above and rippling below, the whispered vibrations reaching for my ears, rising through the itchy Oriental rug from the hardwood floors with elaborate force and infinite possibility.
The Blyde River Canyon [sanctuary]
The Blyde River Canyon, where the waters of joy and sorrow flow, has become my spiritual center, of sorts. My mother when I am missing home. My Canyon de Chelly. It is where I go to think about the triangle of my past, present, and future.
